Fractured Scenes
by A-is-for-Amy
Summary: Just some of my short little Harry Potter drabbles. I plan to add more as I go. Feel free to come in and explore. Not all of them will give you closure - they are just bits of stories floating around in my head -small pieces of a missing bigger picture
1. Default Chapter

**Drabbles**

This is just a little section I set up for myself to purge my mind of all of the little 'side stories' that always seem to be playing in my head, so I can concentrate on my longer stories without getting side-tracked. Each different 'chapter' is an individual drabble, just randome thoughts, and not meant to fit together or into any of my other stories. They will usually be rated G or PG, and I will warn the reader if the rating changes. They're usually short and plot less, and just a little piece of a bigger picture that will (probably) never be painted. I don't promise that they will all make sense, or even give you any closure, because I just let my imagination guide my pen, usually late at night when there are too many thoughts churning around in my head to be able to sleep. Feel free to roam in and out if you like and give your thoughts on whatever strikes you. I'll probably add to these drabbles as I need to, to siphon off excess thoughts – almost like a pensieve. Enjoy!


	2. Storm Inside

****

**A Storm Inside**

****

You can hear the rumble of the thunder as it rolls across the sky outside, and you wonder wistfully what it would take to sneak outside and revel in the storm for a while. You've been so stiff and cold inside lately; the feelings you've been keeping inside are just as turbulent as the tempest building outside, and you long to find a release for them, as surely as the clouds will unburden themselves very soon. Ron is fast asleep and you know that the storm won't wake him, so it would take very little to sneak out of the room. It's getting down all of the stairs and past the elder Weasleys that might be tricky, and before you know it, you've already begun tiptoeing down the dark staircases.

You're pleased to note that you've become comfortable enough in this house to know that the second step from the bottom of the third landing squeaks loudly when trod on, and so you carefully avoid that potential pitfall. The door to Percy's room is ajar, and you cringe before you realize that this room is empty; that Percy doesn't live here anymore. It seems to take an age to reach the bottom of the stairs, and you let out at sigh of relief when you make it. As silently as you can, you ease open the front door, aided by a sharp crack of thunder, and slip out into the ozone heavy night.

The wind is blowing hard, and the trees all around the house thrash, as their branches are storm-tossed. You leave the safety of the porch and walk out into the garden despite the fat raindrops that are beginning to fall. One falls on the back of your neck, sending chills down your spine and gooseflesh erupts down your arms. Your glasses are beginning to fog up, but you don't care; you came out here to _feel_ the storm. You are not disappointed. The very air vibrates as the booming of the thunder becomes more intense, and the lightning jumps from one tumultuous cloud to another, occasionally striking the ground in the distance. The rain comes down harder and drenches you, washing away the fog on your lenses, allowing you to watch the clouds boil by the light of the forks of electricity that fuel the storm. You raise your arms above your head and just _feel_.

You're not sure when you realize that the wetness on your face is not just from the rain, or that you are making your own contribution to the noise of the storm. Your chest his heaving as your sobs burst forth from you violently, snatched away on the wind as it lashes rain at you, and then you _feel_ it. The second storm of the night; breaking while the first still rages. Arms still out stretched, you let it all go as the rain comes down and the thunder crashes and you do what you came out here to do. You _feel_.

_Fin._


	3. Everything

Everything

It didn't occur to him to ask where they were going. Harry just tugged on the sleeve of his robes as he stood and said, "Come on."

Ron followed Harry across the Common Room and through the portrait hole without question, and walked with his best mate aimlessly. That's just how they were with each other; friends with no real destination necessary. He let Harry take the lead and set the pace, and they didn't really need to talk. Harry hadn't been real big on talking lately. Ron was just glad (and relieved) that even though they didn't speak, Harry still wanted his company.

Harry himself didn't seem to know exactly where he wanted to go, though he was drifting in the direction of the main entrance to the castle. Ron stole an occasional glance at him and discovered something he hadn't noticed before. Harry had something on his mind.

"Something you want to talk about?" he prompted quietly and casually.

"I'm still thinking about it," he replied.

Ron nodded and kept in step as they made their way out of the castle and walked down toward the lake. Harry would talk when he was ready, and not a moment before. He wasn't like Hermione who could be goaded into talking just yo get Ron into leaving her alone. This was …Harry, and it was different with him.

They skirted the lake for a while, enjoying the still brisk coolness of the early spring air. Harry picked up a couple of flat, smooth stones from the ground, and skipped them out along the surface of the water. One, two, three _plunk_. One, two, three _plunk_.

"Ginny kissed me," he said abruptly, flushing crimson and not making eye contact.

"Why would she go and do something like that?" Ron smirked with no small amount of amusement. He was actually quite enjoying Harry's discomfort.

"She said," Harry began, and then paused as if marshalling his thoughts. "She said it was an experiment to see if she still had feelings for me from…before."

'_Yeah_," Ron thought with a grin. '_That sounds like Ginny_.'

"Well," he said aloud. "What did you do?"

I pushed her down and hexed her," Harry answered sarcastically. "I kissed her back, of course!"

"And?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Ron found it hard to keep the laugh out of his voice

"I don't know, okay? She didn't say anything afterward. She just sort of said, '_oh_,' and the ran up to her room." Harry said with a bewildered tone. "I haven't seen her since."

"Huh," Ron said, scratching his chin. "I don't know what to tell you, mate."

"Thanks."

"So…How was it?" Ron asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

"It was…" Harry said with a defeated sigh. "It was everything."

_Fin_


	4. The SetUp

**The Set-Up**

Fred shoved George hard in the back forcing his twin to take an involuntary step forward. "Just do it!" Fred hissed.

"Why does it have to be me?" George asked back, leaning back against the hand that was still trying to push him toward the bushy haired figure seated in the corner of the room, immersed in a huge book.

"Because I have a girlfriend, and Tonks'd kick my butt from here to Egypt if she thought I was even thinking about it. Look," Fred whispered. "Do you want to listen to those two bicker all summer? If this works, they'll shut the hell up, and if it doesn't, you might get a bit of snogging out of it."

"There is that," George agreed.

"Good man! Now go get her. I'll make sure that Ron sees it all." Fred disappeared out of the drawing room at Grimmauld Place and spotted Ginny coming down the steps.

"Hey Fred," she said, hardly looking up from the novel she was reading as she walked.

"Hey." He answered. "Where's Ron?"

"In the kitchen, I think. I was just headed down there." She eyed Fred turning to peak into the drawing room, the door being ajar. "Why?"

"I need to get him up here so that he can watch George put the moves on Hermione," he said quietly.

"What?!" she hissed quietly, elbowing him aside to see George crouched down beside Hermione's chair, his head close to hers.

"Yeah," Fred said. "We've got to get Ron up here to see it, or he'll never make a move. That boy is as thick as the walls of Hogwarts!"

"Hmmm," Ginny said. "A set up? That just might work. I'll go send him up."

Fred grinned at her, knowing that he could count on Ginny to do a good job of it. He turned back to watch George work; talking quietly to Hermione as she smiled at him and nodded as she listened to what he had to say. It didn't take long for Ron's footsteps to be heard pounding up the steps from the basement kitchen, and when he emerged on the landing his expression was one of mingled anger and panic. Ginny followed at a more sedate pace, not willing to miss out on the scene to come.

"What's going on?" Ron asked, slightly out of breath.

"George is asking Hermione," Fred said, peaking back in the crack of the door.

"Asking her what?" Ron demanded sharply.

Fred just looked over his shoulder at his younger brother with an expression that plainly said, "_You're an idiot_." He stepped aside and gestured for Ron to have a look for himself.

Ron looked into the drawing room and heard Hermione's soft laugh, and spotted her sitting in a deep armchair with a thick book open in her lap, but her attention was on George, who was perched on an ottoman beside her chair, and their heads were close together. He could feel his blood begin to boil as George took one of her hands in his and pushed a lock of Hermione's hair back behind her ear with the other. Fred and Ginny watched him from the hallway, trying to hide their amused expressions at his ramrod straight back and rising color. Ginny reached over and grabbed Fred's hand, squeezing hard as Ron looked wildly over his shoulder at them.

"Why would he do that?" Ran asked angrily. "He knows she's mine!"

Fred and Ginny raised their eyebrows at him. "Does _she_ know that?" Fred asked slyly. "George just figured if you were never going to make a move, then she was fair game."

"We'll just see about this!" Ron's temper carried himinto the drawing room, without any other thought than to halt his brother's advances on Hermione.

He was breathing heavily, and his face was red with anger as the two of them calmly looked up at him, not so much as moving an inch away from each other. "Get away from her, George!" he said heedlessly, "You know that I…."

"That you _what_, Ron?" Hermione asked softly.

"That I…" he seemed at a loss for words as he realized that he hadn't thought this through. He looked hard at George, over to Hermione, and then at their close proximity to each other. He made up his mind in an instant and swallowed hard before saying, "That I fancy her."

"Do you, Ron?" Hermione asked with a smile. "Do you really?"

He nodded uncertainly and just stood there awkwardly as everyone stared at him.

"I_ told_ you it would work," George announced suddenly, standing up. Hermione nodded with a mischievous grin at him, then looked back at Ron, her eyes twinkling. George leaned down and kissed Hermione on the cheek before walking past Ron and saying, "I'll just leave you to work out the details, then."

He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him, leaving Ron and Hermione alone together.


	5. Out of my Hands

**Out of my Hands**

"It's not the same thing at all, and you know it!" Remus said fiercely.

"How is it different?" James asked with a grin.

Because you have a choice in the matter," Remus hissed at him quietly, his hands beginning to shake. "I can't help what happens to me. The ministry can't punish me for transforming." He pushed aside the nagging little voice at the back of his mind that told him that the ministry _could_ and _would_ punish him in dozens of little ways once he finally left the safety of Hogwarts.

"They won't punish _us_ either," Sirius argued, slinging a companionable arm around James and the other around Peter's shoulders. "Because they're not going to find out."

"You can't seriously mean to do this!" Remus protested. "You'd still be in danger from me! Have you ever seen what I'm like after the full moon? Look at me!"

He tore open the front of his robes angrily to reveal a chest covered in thin ragged scars and pink puckered flesh in various stages of healing.

"I could just as easily do this," he gestures with his shaking hands to the evidence of his violent transformations. "To any of you. So you think that it matters to the wolf inside me that you're all my friends? How do you think I would feel to come back to myself one morning to find I'd murdered my only friends?"

His voice was shaking now, and he wasn't the only one with tears welling up in his eyes. Peter had taken a step backward at the ferocity in Remus's voice, shaking his head in denial. Sirius, upon seeing the scars and the distress in his friend had taken a step forward, wanting to offer comfort and encouragement, but Remus turned his back, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his robes as he refastened them to cover the ugly, raw skin across his torso, that he had torn at in his animalistic rages.

"It would be better for all of us if you would just forget all about this animagus business. It's just too dangerous," he said tiredly, still holding his back to his friends.

"I'm sorry Moony," James said, not really meaning it. He had wiped his own eyes when no one was looking. "But it's too late."

Remus stiffened and spun in place to find James giving him a watery smile and Peter watching him apprehensively. However, where Sirius had been standing only moments ago there now stood a massive black dog.

Lupin fell to his knees and asked in a whisper, "Sirius?"

The large black dog began to whine a bit, and stepped forward to nudge Remus's chest, then licked the boy's hand affectionately. Remus automatically brought up a hand to stroke the dogs head, and ignored the tears that had spilt over the edge of his eyes and tracked down his cheeks.

"What have I done?" he asked himself quietly. "What have I done?"


	6. Late Night

_A/N - I almost NEVER write MWPP, but this just sort of floated into my head. I needed to get it out so I could move on with my story 'Foreshadowing the Past that so many people are patiently waiting on._

**Late Night**

Remus Lupin opened his eyes when he felt/saw the harsh light that streamed over his face. The hangings of his bed had a gap where they came together, allowing the light from James's wand in.

Sirius and James were trying their best to be quiet here in the early hours of the pre-dawn morning, but Remus still had enough of the wolf coursing through his blood to pick up the softest of sounds. He could see them through the gap in the red velvet that enclosed his bed; they were rummaging through James's trunk, obviously searching for whatever tools they would need for the nighttime entertainment. He could pick up no unusual smells, which meant that either his wolf senses were too far receded to detect them, or that his friends' plans did not include dung bombs or destructive potions this time.

Remus tried not feel a pang of jealousy at the fact that he was not being included in their little after hours foray into the castle. He knew that would have gladly welcomed his company at any other time, but he had been a fully-fledged werewolf less than twenty-four hours ago, and was still weak and in need of rest. His skin itched terribly, as it always did in the day or so after the full moon, and he absently scratched his chest, careful to be quiet about it. He wondered briefly were Peter was, and then dismissed the thought almost immediately. Sirius and James tolerated the other boy willingly enough when Remus was also with them, but never really sought him out unless they needed Peter's animagus form to aid them in their special brand of mischief. It wasn't that they didn't like Peter, it was just that James and Sirius were as close as brothers, and Remus knew that he and Peter, though close friends of theirs, would never share that kind of bond with them.

No. Tonight was a Potter and Black exclusive. Remus could hear them briefly argue, then chuckle over something. He could just make out James raising his arms in the air for a moment, and the swirl of a cloak before both boys disappeared from his sight. The pool of light from James's wand cast a strange glow on the stone floor for a moment before he heard a whispered, "Nox," and the light was extinguished.

The door to the room opened slowly to keep it from creaking, as it was wont to do, and the two other boys slipped out, leaving the room still and quiet once more. Remus closed his eyes again, wondering sleepily what sort mischief his friends were off to commit, before sleep reclaimed him. His last thought before sinking back into dreams was that, if he knew James and Sirius (and he did), whatever they were up to now would become evident in it's own time. The thought made him smile.


	7. A Promise to Quit Drinking Rated PG13

**A Promise to Quit Drinking**

_This particular drabble is Rated PG-13/ R for relatively strong language and slightly graphic description of violence. Turn back now if this might offend you._

_warning once..._

_a_

_a_

_a_

_Warning twice_

_a_

_a_

_a_

_Last warning_

_a_

_a_

_a_

"No offense, Harry," Ron said bluntly, surveying his best friend over the kitchen table. "But you look like shit."

"How come when people start a sentence with 'no offense,' it's usually offensive?" Harry mused aloud.

His voice sounded gravelly, and it hurt to talk. Almost as much as it hurt his eyes to be sitting in the sun-drenched kitchen of the Burrow after the night he'd had.

"Because it's usually something you need to hear, pleasant or not," Ron said, calmly adding his customary three spoonfuls of sugar to his tea.

And I needed to hear that I look like shit?" Harry asked with a half smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

He compromised on the need to close his eyes against the light that was trying to burn it's way in, and squinted at his best friend blearily, making Ron laugh a bit sourly.

"Yes," Ron confirmed. "Because if Mum catches you looking like that…. Bloody hell, Harry! You're still wearing the same robes you had on yesterday!"

"So?" Harry said carelessly, gulping down his tea for the lift he prayed it would give him. "I was too tired to change into pyjamas. Cut me a break."

"Too drunk you mean," Ron corrected.

Harry just sneered and poured more tea into his cup. He had no intention of telling Ron where he'd been all night.

"What time did you fall out of the Floo, anyway?" Ron asked, trying to keep a conversational tone to his voice. "I know you couldn't have apparated in that shape."

"Sod off, Ron." He said it quietly. He was in no mood for this right now. Her had spent the last twenty hours stalking a pair of Death Eaters. They had been two of just a few dozen that had held out after Harry had taken Voldemort down; just pale imitators of the Dark Lord, grasping for power that would never be theirs.

"_I will not sod off_!" Ron said loudly, banging his hand sharply on the table for emphasis and causing Harry to grip his head and moan in agony. "It won't bring her back, you know." Ron's voice was quiet once more, with a hint of sympathy – or was it pity? – in his voice. Harry didn't much care at the moment.

"Sod off, Ron," Harry repeated, his voice stronger now. "It makes me feel better."

He knew that Ron would think he was talking about getting drunk, and not about what Harry had really been doing with his nights. He cast his mind back to just six hours earlier, and relived the moment when he had cornered those two pieces of filth in that little alley. He pictured how he had hit one of those Death Eaters in the chest with a Reductor curse, and watched dispassionately as the man had bled out beside his already dead companion, flecks of his flesh and blood scattered around him. They had taken her from him – from _them_ – and they would have to pay. They would all be made to pay. Harry was seeing to it personally.

"It won't make anything better, Harry," Ron persisted, having no way of seeing into Harry's mind to the truth of the matter. "Merlin! I can still smell the whiskey on you!"

Harry nodded absently. He supposed Ron would; he'd had a bottle of it broken over his head last night as he'd cornered his prey in a seedy little pub, just before they'd run for it. He wished that he'd had the opportunity to get a shot of it into him, instead of just soaking into his robes.

"When are you going to stop this?" Ron asked sadly. "Everyone is worried about you."

"Soon," Harry answered truthfully. There were only a few more left to collect the balance of his vengeance on.

"Why not now?" Ron demanded.

"You didn't see her Ron!" Harry said fiercely, suddenly on his feet and glaring at the other man. "You didn't see what they did to her…what was left of her." He shuddered at the memory. He _had _seen. His fists were clenched against the scarred and scrubbed oak of the Weasley's kitchen table, but his fury burnt itself out when he saw the wetness clinging to Ron's lashes as his words hit their mark.

Ron took a deep, shaking breath and said, "You weren't the only one who loved her."

"I know," Harry said, sinking back into his chair and burying his face in his hands. "I know."

"Promise me you'll stop," Ron pleaded urgently, his voice only a whisper. "Promise me you'll stop drinking."

"All right, Ron," Harry said with a sigh, scrubbing his hands over his jaw, which was blue with stubble. He knew that he was lying to his brother-friend by omission, but al least he could give him this much. "No more drinking."

"Promise," Ron said, with happiness and disbelief in his expression all at once.

"I promise," Harry said quietly. Honestly. "Nothing stronger than butter beer."

"You swear it?"

"I swear it."

Ron sighed in relief. For want of anything better to do with his trembling hands, he refilled their teacups, and composed himself.

"It will be okay, Harry."

"I know," Harry agreed. He would make sure of it..


	8. Things That Can Never Be

**Things That Can Never Be**

What a mess. It would take weeks to clear all of this out. Professor Sprout was making a fuss over the Devil's Snare monstrosity that had served as the second obstacle to the stone. She was insisting that the plant needed to be transplanted into a nice cave that she had found for it not too far from the castle, and that of course they would have to move it at night, so as not to damage the man-eating plant's 'delicate nature'. If it were up to Severus Snape, he'd have had a jolly great bonfire and had it done with. It was easier to clean up and nice pile of smoldering ash than to move a sunlight-hating plant several miles away.

He by-passed the Herbology professor with a sneer and left her crooning to the godforsaken plant lovingly. He moved to the next chamber to find that it was littered with hundreds of winged keys, the charm that had infused them with life having been removed. He nodded in polite acknowledgement as he passed Professor Flitwick, who was now gathering the lifeless keys with short waves of his wand.

The smell of the troll that had inhabited the next chamber only a week ago still lingered, making him wrinkle his nose in distaste. Thus far the sickening odor had defied all air freshening charms, and seemed to have permeated that very stones. Still, he had his own job to do here, and did not intend to linger to ponder the problem.

He approached the small room where the potions bottles stood on a waist-high table. Two of the bottles out of place, and Snape knew that Hermione Granger had solved his riddle in a matter of minutes of reading it, much to his disgust. He wasn't particularly surprised, though, at her brilliance, and it had been invaluable to getting Potter to the stone that had been hidden in the next chamber. He pocketed the bottles carefully and moved into the room that had harbored the stone so recently.

It was odd. There were no markings; not signifying scars of any kind on the floor or walls to indicate that a deadly struggle had taken place here only days ago. Quirrel's used-up, lifeless body had long ago been removed, the only souvenir of his perilous adventure as a servant of the Dark Lord. The fool.

The room was completely unremarkable now, but for the huge mirror sitting imposingly in the center of the room. "erased stra hru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi" I show not your face, but your heart's desire. Brilliant in it's simplicity. The mirror stood like some alien spider's web, waiting to ensnare the unwitting. Severus knew of the mirror and of its morbid reputation. Men had gone utterly, irretrievably mad in front of this looking glass; completely insane just from peering inside and not having the strength of will to look away.

I show not your face...

What would he see, if he were to look now? He had no doubt that he had the fortitude to withstand any charms the mirror might weave around him. He reflected back upon his life and tried to puzzle out what vision he might find within the glass. Twenty years he knew with certainty that he would have seen himself, in Death Eater's robes, proudly donning the mask. Fifteen years ago, he might have seen his arm, unblemished by the Dark Mark, which by that time was the blight of his existence. Five years ago, he might have seen the same, or else at least a classroom free of Harry Potter, staring at him with loathing out of Lily's eyes, but with James's face mocking him.

But what would he see today?

It was no small feat to gather the strength to find out. Was he as prepared to face the image of the thing his heart most longed for as he supposed? He could not fathom what that image could possibly be at this point. He had given up on hope of being truly happy, of being redeemed, long ago... did he even have a heart after all of the things he had seen and done in his past?

Well.

There was only one way to find out, wasn't there? He took a beep bracing breath, only to let it out in a hiss as Professor McGonagall called out to him for help in vanishing the huge chess pieces from the large chamber that had been made to resemble a chessboard.

He stopped briefly before exiting the room, and looked back. Perhaps it was best this way. There was no point in seeing images of things that could never be. He made his choices in life, and nothing some mirror showed him would change that. This time as he walked away, he didn't look back.


	9. Not About You

** Not About You **

****

Harry stood in the doorway of the sitting room, watching Ginny uncertainly. She had her back to him, resting against the arm of an old broken down couch, and her feet balanced against the other arm. Her face was half concealed from him, but from what he could tell, her expression was stormy. He knew the look well, as he had worn it often himself over the past few months. Being in Grimmauld Place seemed to do that to all of it's inhabitants after a while. The gloom was almost tangible at times, and contagious to the unwary. Today, outside of the windows was as stormy as Ginny's countenance, and he stood, trying to think of a way to bring a smile to her face. Not that he was ever allowed out there.

He wasn't sure how long he had stood in the doorway, leaning up against the jamb, watching her staring into nothingness. It wasn't until he heard a noise from her, mixed in with a sudden rumble of thunder, which sounded suspiciously like a moan, that he stood up properly. He took a tentative step into the room, not sure what he would do if she were crying. Cho had done so much of that last year, he felt that he should be a pro at dealing with tears by now, but he was lost every time.

"Ginny," he said softly, approaching her chair.

He stopped when she buried her face in her raised knees and let her hair obscure her face. He looked for telltale signs of weeping, but found no shaking shoulders or muffled sobs to indicate tears. He tried again.

"Ginny?"

He edged closed, and knelt down on the carpet in front of her chair.

"Go away, Harry," Ginny said quietly, without lifting her head. "Please."

Harry stood, intending to honor her wishes. How often had he gotten angry because others wouldn't just leave him the hell alone when he asked? Still, he wanted to make sure that there was nothing he could do before leaving her to her feelings.

"Ginny," he said cautiously. "Did I do something to…?"

Her head came up from her knees then, and he could see that her eyes were red and wet, but that she hadn't let the tears come just yet. Perhaps it was an internal battle that she was fighting to keep them at bay.

"Sometimes it's _not _about you, Harry."

Her words stung him and he almost lashed out, out of instinct, but he reigned in his temper and nodded. "I'm sorry." It was all he could think of to say. Her eyes seemed to be boring into him, and he reckoned that she was waiting for him to leave. He followed an impulse without thinking about it, and raised a gentle hand to briefly touch her shoulder; a simple sign of support and commiseration, before turning toward the door, intending to retreat.

"He left a piece of himself inside of me," she said suddenly.

Harry turned to look at her, and found that her eyes were trained on the opposite wall. Perhaps it was easier for her to talk that way – without having to look at anyone.

"I know," Harry answered.

She lapsed into silence again, and he was unsure of what to do. Was she simply letting him know what was causing her misery? Was she asking for a shoulder, or a listening ear? He stood and waited to see if she might expound of this statement, and felt terribly sorry for her. It had been nearly four years since Tom Riddle had deceived an eleven-year-old Ginny, and taken over her body and soul for unknown amounts of time. He knew that she must have had a hard time dealing with it, but had been so wrapped up in his own troubles, that he hadn't given it much more thought than that. She has seemed fine when he had seen her again in the fall after the Chamber of Secrets, and he had selfishly moved on with his life, not stopping to see if she could do the same. He didn't really feel he had the right to pry about it now.

The silence stretched on just long enough that Harry decided that she had made her statement as a form of dismissal. She had given him the reason she was upset, so he could just go and leave her in peace now, thank you very much. He had taken a step toward the door once more, when she broke the silence.

"I can still feel him sometimes."

"I know," Harry answered again. It was true; he knew that feeling better than anyone.

"Do you think it will ever go away?" she asked, a slight tremor in her voice. She had finally turned her eyes back to his, and they were haunted and bleak.

"Yes," Harry answered simply. "I intend to make sure of it."

"You might die," she whispered. So softly that he almost didn't hear the words.

"We all might die," he said, going to kneel before her chair again. He took one of her hands in his, and noticed the way she had painted her nails a bright and cheerful pink, despite the fact that they were bitten practically to the quick.

"I meant sooner, not later," she said, managing a weak chuckle at his practical tone.

"So did I," he said, giving her hand a little squeeze.

Strange, he thought, how tiny her hand seems in mine.

"We might as well go down fighting, then." She sniffed and wiped at her damp eyes with her free hand.

"That's the plan," he smiled gently. He reached up to push a stray fiery strand of hair from her face, and tuck it behind her ear. "In the mean time…" He kissed her hand softly, and looked her straight in the eye. "Take what he left behind, and make it yours."

"What he left behind scares me," she said seriously, clinging to his hand tightly

"Welcome to my life," Harry joked weakly. "Would you say that what he left inside me made me less of a person?"

She shook her head vehemently.

"It doesn't make you less of a person either."

She studied his honest gaze for a few moments, and then nodded, finding whatever answer she needed in his eyes. He helped her to her feet, and she adjusted her shirt a bit, and ran her fingers through her hair.

"Let's go and see if Ron left us any ice cream," Harry suggested, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"Not very likely," Ginny said with a sniffle.

They walked toward the door once more, and Ginny grabbed his hand to stop him and pleaded, "Don't tell my Mum, okay?"

Harry understood what she was asking of him. Mrs. Weasley would worry herself into a terrible frenzy if she knew her daughter harbored such dark feelings still.

"I won't." It was a promise.

"One more thing, Harry," she said, a little desperately.

"What is it?" he asked concerned.

The concern melted away when her arms came around him. He leaned into the hug, and held her close, soaking in her warmth and offering his comfort. If things worked out in the end, he thought he might offer her more. But for now, this was enough.


	10. Unmerry Christmas

Harry sat by the window of the Burrow watching fat snowflakes drift lazily past the frosty panes. According to Mrs. Weasley, they hadn't had snow at Christmastime for many years before this. The ground was now blanketed in white, covering up the yellowed grass and muddy lane, and giving the illusion of clean and quiet contentment.

Everything inside of Harry bore evidence of just the opposite. He felt dirty inside, and anything but content. He felt tainted and unworthy to stand in the home of such good people who had opened their hearts and home to him, as if he was one of their own. He had blood on his hands now that would never wash off, and it didn't seem to matter that no one else saw him as a murderer. He had taken not only Voldemort's life, but those of his followers with one huge blow, and he didn't think he would ever be able to forget that each of those people had been fighting for what they believed in, just as Harry had.

Had it really only been a month ago?

Knowing that his mask of stoicism was firmly in place, Harry turned from the window to survey the cozy living room, where the family of his heart had settled in to wait for the night.

Ginny sat on the couch, back against the battered arm, and knees drawn up to her chest. Her toes were tucked under Charlie's leg while she turned the page of the book she'd been pretending to be absorbed in for the last hour. Charlie himself was snoring lightly, with his head tilted back and his arms crossed over his chest. He held himself upright and somewhat tensed, even in sleep.

On the other side of Charlie, Bill pushed up the glasses that he used for reading further up his nose, as he used a large book as a lap-desk to scratch out a letter with a battered quill. His hand was lightly flecked with black from the ink that spattered up from the quill's ragged tip, but he didn't seem to mind. The constant, even scratching was practically the only noise in the room, save for the occasional thud of chessmen on the board where Ron and Hermione were silently battling one another. The fire crackled in the grate, and might have been cheerful if the mood of the room weren't so tense, and the quiet ticking of the clock reminding them every second that time was steadily passing without any news.

Harry took a seat in an armchair beside the Christmas tree, and picked up the book that he had been pretending to read earlier. The large, brightly decorated tree obscured his view of the window, but it wasn't through the window that the most welcome sight that any of them had seen in a long time stumbled out of – it was the Floo.

"George!" Ron's shout quickly roused Charlie, and they all shot to their feet at once as the Floo roared to life once more, and Fred stepped out, looking only slightly less ragged and tired than his twin. Molly and Arthur followed in short order, both with strained faces that said more loudly than words that they had been through an ordeal.

"Any luck?" Bill said into the sudden silence that had descended once every one was out of the Floo.

Mrs. Weasley's pinched face gave them the answer they had been waiting for before Mr. Weasley had time to voice it.

"No," he said, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve some of the pressure behind his eyes. "It wasn't Percy. It was some other poor soul…"

There was collective sigh of relief from the assembled group before the tears welled up in Ginny's eyes, and she turned to bury her face in Harry's jumper.

He was sure that she couldn't know that it was him that she was leaning on, and so he ran a comforting hand up and down her slim back, trying not to feel guilty for the small measure of bittersweet pleasure he gained from touching her like this. She had been avoiding him lately - since that last confrontation with Voldemort.

He gave her a gentle squeeze before releasing her, and damned himself when her eyes widened and she took a hasty step backward.

"Don't worry, Mum," Charlie said to Molly, wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders. "We'll find him."

Molly nodded and dabbed at her eyes, and said, "I just can't help thinking that someone else out there might be searching for the boy we found tonight. Hoping that he'll come home, that he'll be alive…" She gave a shuddering sob, and let her husband lead her into the kitchen for some tea.

The others followed sedately behind, but Harry didn't follow them. He went back to the window and stared into nothingness again.


	11. winter

**Winter**

_Eternity is not something that begins after you are dead. It is going on all the time. We are in it now. - Charlotte Perkins Gilman_

They think that I'm 'not always all there' these days. Perhaps they are right. I prefer to spend the remainder of my days remembering the adventures of my youth. Back to the days when life was more than being cared for by kindly strangers and being visited by loved ones every day.

If being lost in the past sometimes makes me unaware of the present at times, what of it? No one knows better than I do that my days are numbered. One hundred and seventy-seven years is a respectable life span by anyone's standards. I can sense that my time to part ways with this feeble body is fast approaching. It is only natural that I should look back on my life and take stock of my accomplishments and failures, is it not?

I have left my mark on the world – the Wizarding World, anyway – for good or ill. One never knows how one's decisions and actions in life will affect the world generations afterward. My progeny are many, and are a comfort to me. When I am missing my beloved wife, who was taken from me after only seventy short years, I have only to look at my children, or their children. I can see her face, or eyes, or hair in so many of them. She will live on in them, just as I will.

It is no different when I long to see my best friend again. His children and grandchildren come to see me when they can, and they never fail to remind me of him, with their looks or manners. They come and listen to my stories, and laugh with me over the antics of our youth.

And when my reminiscing comes to an end, and I am left facing the future, I can't help but wonder what adventures lie ahead of me. Will I be young again, in the next life? Will my body be strong and my mind sharp? Will my white hair be red again, and my rheumy eyes return to clear blue?

Will Hermione be there waiting for me? And Harry?

I can't wait to find out.

End.


	12. Molly Wants A Girl

**Molly Wants A Girl**

Molly Weasely was willing to try one more time for the girl she'd always wanted. As she undressed and slipped between the sheets to wait for Arthur to join her, she thought about her situation.

It wasn't that she didn't love each and every one of her six boys dearly. It was just that she longed for a girl in a way that she couldn't put into words. She wouldn't trade her sons for anything, but she couldn't help but hope that this time she might concieve a daughter...

What was keeping Arthur?

Outside, two redheaded men stood in the shadows. Arthur had done is homework well. It had taken him months of searching to find a red-haired man with mostly female relatives. The man's brother was the father of three girls. It had taken several more weeks (and a not inconsiderable sum of money) to convince the other man to agree to this...

"Remember," said Arthur, adding one of his own hairs to a flask. "You'll only have an hour once you drink this."


End file.
